


Shattering

by dizzy



Category: Shattering
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2014-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-16 21:13:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1361989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzy/pseuds/dizzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darren-centric, 1.1k of maudlin half-drunk internalizing with a dash of hurt/comfort. </p>
<p>Read on tumblr <a href="http://alittledizzy.tumblr.com/post/79033431220/shattering-chris-colfer-darren-criss-pg">here</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shattering

Sometimes life feels more like a merry-go-round than a roller coaster. It has ups and downs but they happen in the same kind of cycle, a ride than turns predictable. The music starts to sound grating to his ears and the more easily he can predict the swoops of his stomach the more nauseating they become.

He starts to crave those things that break the pattern. He starts acting outside of himself, outside of the guidance of all those people he hands over money to to tell him how to run his life.

He's rebelling. It comes in a lot of forms. Hopping a plane to who the fuck knows where for no fucking reason at all. Testing out the word no, over and over and over. No, I won't wear that. No, I won't go there. No, you can't make me anymore. No.

Trying things he wouldn't try. Making new friends and finding solace in them. Other stuff, the darker stuff, but not really - not too much, with all of that. He's bored, he's not stupid.

Tonight... tonight it's just an old faithful, a tried and true keeper at bay of demons. A bar where he hopes no one will know his face and an open tab. He's already a little unsteady on his feet before he even takes his first drink, a remnant of a much too long day full of bouncing around and faked smiles and playing pretty for the camera. Earning his paycheck, doing his song and dance, acting like he hasn't got a care in the world.

Once upon a time he really didn't.

He can't even say he misses it. Youth is wasted on the young, but the young just want to grow up and get some fucking respect. Darren feels it from both sides now.

No one trusts him to do anything. He's dumb, he's irresponsible, he couldn't possibly know his own mind. They build statistics around him and show him the numbers and the figures and he knows he's more object than person at this point. He's a name, he's a brand, he's something to be marketed to the masses and hope they buy what he's selling: himself.

He's perfect as long as he's exactly what they tell him to be and if it turns out that isn't so perfect after all then it's his fault, not theirs.

He's clinging to those cracks in his foundation now, because suddenly it feels like that's all he has left that's his own. No body wants the bad parts, the ugly black marks. They are holes painted over but not filled in.

He should write a song about that.

Not that they'd let him sing it.

He doesn't even get that anymore. Someone else's words come out of his mouth. He does enough acting at his day job. That's not supposed to be what the music is about. The music is supposed to be _his_.

He loses track of how many drinks. He's wobbling and tired and his mind won't quit even though the rest of him is almost out of it.

He feels a hand on his arm. The bartender asks if there's anyone he can call. He doesn't mean to give them Chris's number but somehow half an hour later he's being piled into Chris's car.

They don't talk much on the drive. Darren falls asleep a couple of times.

"This isn't my place," he says in a groggy voice as Chris's gate closes behind them with a mechanical whirring noise.

"No shit," Chris says. He's dressed but in the most casual outfit he could possibly pull off without being accused of wearing actual pajamas. "It's almost three in the morning, you know."

The bite to his voice is all for show. Darren isn't scared of it. Chris can come on strong, prickly and sour when he wants to, but he rarely means it as much as people think he does.

Or maybe he just likes Darren. Maybe it's that special Darren thing. Darren really isn't dumb; he gets it. He knows how to manipulate people without even trying. It's not a skill set he can define or explain away or teach. It's just a part of him.

_People like him._

Maybe that's why it's suddenly so hard to accept that a hundred voices are all trying to shout at him and whisper to him and seduce him into becoming someone that isn't him at all.

People like him. Why should he change?

Because maybe they don't like him enough. Enough to be a star. Enough for the future he wants.

He's never in his life been told he might not be good enough. That he might need to work a little harder. He doesn't like it very much - maybe because he's not used to working like that, or maybe because underneath the surface it feels less like  _work harder_ and more like  _be a different person_.  

"Come on." Chris's hand on his arm is a gentle push to the door. "I'll take you home in the morning, but we were closer to mine."

There's a blurry stretch of time between walking inside of the house and when his head hits the pillow. He blinks his eyes like that'll help the sleepy cobwebs tangling his thoughts and realizes that this is Chris's bedroom.

It won't be the first time Darren has fallen asleep in Chris's bed. If Darren has anything to say about it, and if luck is on his side, it won't be the last time.

Chris gets into bed beside him a few minutes later. Darren shakes and lets out a desperate sound, one that makes Chris sit up in alarm. "Are you all right? You're not gonna puke, are you?"

"No," Darren says, voice raspy. It takes him a minute to realize that he's crying. Not just a little bit but a lot, tears caught up in his stubble and throat burning.

"Oh, fuck," Chris says, sighing. He's not unsympathetic - more sad than anything else. His hands reach for Darren in a way that can't be described as anything but loving, leaning over Darren to put an arm over his chest and the other against the pillow over Darren's head to gently rake through his curls. Another sob shakes through Darren when Chris leans down more and kisses his forehead. "What is happening to you? You're a mess. Who did this to you?"

The only answer Darren has to give is _I did it to myself_  but his voice won't work to make the right words, so he clings to the arm Chris puts around him with both hands instead. It's not a lifeline but it's a tether to a reality he likes more than the one he's living right now.


End file.
